


Parlour Games

by batsojopo



Category: Foyle's War, Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Crime Fighting, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsojopo/pseuds/batsojopo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flattery will get you everywhere; vanity will get you...dead.  A sequel to The Pale Rider</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Canon up to May 1942. Anything else are lovely imaginations from the author's warped mind.  
> Disclaimer: All known characters are the creation of Anthony Horowitz and Dorothy Sayers. I make no money off this.  
> Notes: This is a sequel to Pale Rider and starts in November 1943

 

 

_Scene 1_

 

 

“ _Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,_

_'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;_

_The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,_

_And I've a many curious things to show when you are there.”_

 

“ _Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “To ask me is in vain,_

_For who goes up your winding stair_

_-can ne'er come down again.”_

 

\-- _Mary Howitt_

 

 

 

 

Christopher Foyle sat in the plush leather bound chair near the fireplace in his dinner jacket. He reached up and pulled the collar away from his neck before releasing it. Why had he let Peter Wimsey talk him into coming, he had no idea. He did have to admit, that the man could be very persuasive when he chose. And then there was Sam. She wanted him to get out more. If it wasn’t for her, then he’d probably still be down in Hastings. The room was sumptuously decorated, much more so than the _Flyfisher_ _’s Club_ that he was a member of. When he arrived Peter had mentioned it was called the _Bellona Club_.

 

“They’re ready, old chap.”

 

Foyle turned to see the one who spoke. Peter approached, also dressed in his own dinner jacket, with a single red poppy in the lapel button to add color. He looked down to his own splash of color and bit the inside of his lower lip.

 

“Oh come now.”

 

Foyle finally stood up and straightened the ends of his coat sleeves. “I shouldn’t be here.”

 

Peter waved the comment off. “For Remembrance Day? Of course you should be here.” And with an added wave of his hand he indicated the direction they should travel.

 

“We’re in the middle of a war. So I ask again, why are we here?”

 

“Christopher, that’s precisely the reason why we’re here. We need something to take our minds off what’s happening on the continent.”

 

“By remembering the war we were in?” Foyle couldn’t help by think of the irony of the whole situation. His shoulder gave out a short spasm before it disappeared.

 

“Your shoulder still bothering you?”

 

Foyle stopped short, surprised that he even showed anything. He gave Peter a wary look. “How did you know?”

 

Peter gave him a benign, yet amusing, look.

 

“I’ve noticed it now aches before the weather changes.”

 

“That’s rather interesting, don’t you think?”

 

They entered the large dining room where other veterans were already gathered. The only one he easily recognized was the man standing beside him. At that moment he wished he was back in Hastings and having dinner with Sam. It had become a regular occurrence after he had finally come back to work. On his first day back the constables were more than happy when he stepped into the station with Sam in front of him. They also gave them their own amused smiles. “Maybe,” he answered.

 

“Christopher, it’s good to see you.” Charles Howard disengaged himself from whom he was talking with and came over. “I’m surprised that you actually made it here.”

 

“I’ve got work to do down in Hastings, you should know that.” Foyle’s gruff answer was softened by him reaching out and grasping the man’s hand with a firm grip.

 

“Then Hastings needs to have an annual Remembrance Dinner for the veterans, especially once this war is over.” Charles turned to Peter, “It’s been a while Lord Peter. Are you still up in Hertfortshire?”

 

Christopher furrowed his brow looking from one man to the other. “Do you know each other?”

 

“Yes,” Charles nodded with a smile. “In fact, he came by shortly after you were injured and demanded on why I never revealed who you were.”

 

“It would have made everything much simpler in the end.” Peter moved towards one of the leather backed chairs.

 

Fining a spot, Christopher looked over the men that were gathered. He glanced towards Charles, “At that time I was looking towards the future, and not thinking back on what had happened during the war.” There were no women in attendance, which he found rather sad. A woman’s presence was always calming, or maybe it was a certain woman that he had come to dearly miss when she was not present, he mused as he sat down.

 

Considering everyone was on rations, the meal was hearty and filling. The wine flowed and conversation wound from one topic to another as they reminisced, talked about the current war, and revealed what they were now doing. Foyle found out he wasn’t the only one in attendance that had a son off fighting for King and country. It actually felt comforting up to a point that he wasn’t alone in that respect.

 

In the end most all gathered around in the room he had waited in with glasses of Port. Foyle saw no reason to stay and went to the porter and asked for his overcoat and hat.

 

“Leaving so soon?” Peter came up as he was putting his white scarf in place.

 

Foyle shook his head. “This isn’t where I belong.”

 

Peter’s mouth quirked in a bit of a smile. “Come now, I think that’s rather odd since you married high gentry.”

 

“I’m a policeman, nothing more, nothing less, and Rosalind accepted me in-spite of that.” He slipped on the heavy overcoat and reached for his trilby.

 

“There you are.” Charles approached with two glasses of Port. He handed one to Foyle who accepted the drink. “You’re not traveling down to Hastings this late, are you?”

 

“Nup. Staying at the _Flyfisher_ _’s Club_. Will head back down tomorrow.”

 

“Wasn’t it hit during the blitz?”

 

“Yup. They’re in a temp’ry location until they can find something more permanent.” Foyle downed the rest of the drink and placed the now empty glass on the bar.

 

“Then who persuaded you to come?”

 

Foyle glanced towards Peter.

 

“Come now, I’m not _that_ persuasive.” Peter smiled while shaking his head.

 

Charles placed a hand on Foyle’s shoulder. “Safe travels, my friend. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

 

Foyle couldn’t help but agree on that aspect. When the man exited, leaving him standing there with Peter, the aristocrat gave him a knowing look. “I really don’t think I was the only reason why you came.”

 

Christopher looked down then back up with a bit of a smile on his face.

 

Peter’s questioning look turned into one that bordered on glee. “I was right. So…how is the lovely Miss Stewart?”

 

The conversation that had been amicable, turned uncomfortable for Foyle. “Sshe’s fine.”

 

The glee turned into something akin to being magnanimous. “No need to be embarrassed. I could see what was happening between the two of you even if at the time you were blind to the fact.”

 

The porter appeared from one of the doorways. “Mr. Foyle, your ride has arrived.”

 

Foyle nodded. “Give Harriet my best wishes.”

 

The two headed for the front entrance. This time it was Peter who opened the door. The cold November air rushed in, giving the front room a sudden chill. “You will keep in touch, old chap?”

 

Christopher gave him a nod and carefully made his way across the wet pavement to the waiting cab. Once he was safely ensconced, the door to the club closed plunging the street into a semi-gloom.

 

The _Flyfisher_ _’s Club_ ironically enough, wasn’t that far away, but in Foyle’s mind, it was too far to walk in the increasingly wet and cold air. When they arrived, he paid the driver and quickly slipped into the building. Once inside the warm air seemed to seep through his heavy overcoat.

 

“How was the dinner, sir.”

 

Foyle turned to see who spoke. The porter for the club approached and held out his hands so that he could receive his coat and hat. “It was as I expected it to be.”

 

The servant glanced to the red flower. “It’s Remembrance Day. Is that the dinner you attended?”

 

“Why are you asking me this?” Foyle wasn’t angry, but he did want to know why.

 

“Being a veteran myself I wish I could have attended, but with my job, I have a difficult time attending dinner parties such as that.”

 

For once Foyle gave him a kind smile. “Maybe next time.” And with that he headed towards the stairs and his rented room. Tomorrow he’d be down in Hastings by lunch.

 

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since that Remembrance Day dinner Foyle had participated in, and the grey sky matched his mood.  It had been raining off and on for several days and his shoulder seemed to complain even more.  He wondered if he’d have to deal with the ache for the rest of his life.  
  
He had been debating on whether or not to go into the station when Sam arrived.  She greeted him with a smile when he opened the door.  Sam was thirty minutes early and she slipped into the semi warm interior of his house.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” she gave him a cheery greeting then headed towards the kitchen.  
  
“Sam,” he started, then followed her while shaking his head.  He had yet to put his jacket on.  Standing in the entrance to the kitchen, he watched with his hands on his hips while she helped herself to a cup of tea.  
  
“Tea?” she raised a cup.  
  
She seemed to realize something was off.  “Christopher?” she furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side.  
  
“Never mind.”  He went to the table and sat down.  
  
“Are you okay?” she came over and placed a hand on his forehead.  They didn’t touch much.  The only time it would happen was if they were alone in the Wolseley.  
  
“I’m fine,” he gently lifted her hand from his forehead and pushed it away.  “Just….”  
  
She sat down next to him.  “Thinking?”  She paused, “Maybe about us?”  
  
He propped his head on his hand and drew a figure eight with his free one on the table.  “Remembering.  Remembering what happened to the soldiers I was with in the war, and how most were dead by the end.”  
  
She reached over and laid her hand on his.  “I remember reading about the Christmas Truce.  We’re you part of that?”  
  
He turned his hand over and their fingers intertwined.  “No.  I joined up the next year.”  
  
Sam gave him a bit of a conspiratorial look.  “You know, if you don’t want to head to the station, I won’t tell the constables why.”  
  
Christopher shook his head.  “Hugh will come by to make sure everything’s all right.”  
  
“You know, I guess it’s the gloomy weather.  It’s been like this for a week now.”  
  
“Maybe.”  Christopher shook his head.  
  
She gave him a smile.  “At least we weren’t bombed last night.  You have no idea how lovely it is to get a full night’s sleep for once.”  
  
The clock chimed in the lounge letting them know that it was now the bottom of the hour.  
  
Sam finished her tea.  “Do you want me to drive you to work, or are you staying here?”  
  
“I’ll go.”  Christopher released her hand, momentarily saddened by the loss of contact, then picked up his jacket.  It was resting on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.  He had brought it with him when he first came downstairs.  
  
He slipped it on as they moved from the kitchen to finally the entry hall.  Christopher reached out and let his hand linger on her shoulder.  “Sam.”  
  
“Sir?”  She had already switched her thoughts into a working mode.  Turning she furrowed her brow, then smiled as he pulled her close to hold her.  
  
He kept his voice low.  “I feel I’m on the cusp of something, though I’m not sure what it is.”  
  
They released and took a step back.  “Then maybe we should keep our eyes open to what’s ahead.”  
  
“Jolly good.”  _Did I just say that?_  
  
Sam bowed her head, but couldn’t hide the smile that emerged.  
  
“You’re rubbing off on me, you know that?”  And with that he pulled on his overcoat and put his trilby on.  
  
They exited the house and climbed into the Wolseley.  The mist in the grey morning air was threatening to develop into a full blown shower.    
  
“You know, sir,” Sam started, “Maybe we could take a drive down the coast?”  
  
Foyle frowned.  “With the rationing, we have to have a reason to be on the road.  You should know that, Sam.”  
  
Her hopeful look crumpled.  “It’s not fair.”  
  
“War is never fair.”  
  
She started the engine and had the car pull away from its parking spot.  It didn’t take long before they were parked behind the station.  
  
Sam gave him a long look.  “You know I haven’t seen you like this since the last time you went to visit—”  
  
“Sam, don’t.”  
  
She shrugged.  “All I’m saying is that maybe you need to get out more.  It’s been a long time since you were this moody.”  
  
Foyle ignored her as he got out and headed towards the back entrance to the station.  Maybe he could slip by Brooke.  He was in no mood for niceties.  Walking past the desk sergeant he could hear him ask someone, “What’s wrong with him?”  Ignoring everything, he made it to his office and shut the door.  
  
  
  
  
Sam followed Foyle into the station at a more respectable distance.  Putting the key in its place, she looked at Brooke and shook her head.  
  
He pointed a thumb in the direction of Foyle’s office.  “Has he been like this all morning?”  
  
“Ever since I picked him up.  I’ve no idea what it is.  The last time he was anything like this was back in February.”  
  
Chief Superintendent Hugh Reid popped his head out of his office.  “Was that Mr. Foyle?” he asked as he fully emerged.  Seeing Sam, it looked like he assumed it was and turned to head down the hall.  
  
Brooke reached a hand across the front desk even though he wasn’t close enough to stop the higher ranked police officer.  “Don’t go in there, sir.  Mr. Foyle’s in no mood to see anyone.”  
  
Hugh stopped and turned around.  “Why?”  He looked past the desk sergeant and to the desks behind him.  On one of them it showed the current date.  “Of course,” he nodded.  
  
Sam came near.  “What is it?”  
  
Hugh gave her a kind look.  “It was this date, and the weather was like this when Mrs. Foyle was first diagnosed.”  
  
Sam brought a hand up to her mouth and she shook her head.  “I had no idea.  All he did was mention something about the war and how so many of the soldiers he was with were dead by the end of it.”  
  
“I suspect he said that because he didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge of when his wife contracted Typhoid.”  And with that he continued down the hall to Foyle’s office and slipped into it.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Hugh slipped into Foyle ’s office, not entirely sure what he was going to find. It had been a long time since he had seen his old friend in such a state. Foyle had his hand reached out, propping himself against the wall with his head bowed. His other hand looked like it was in a trouser pocket. Either that, or it was resting on his hip. “Christopher?”

 

Foyle turned his head to the side, yet it remained bowed.  “The weather was the same, Hugh.” He sniffed then scratched his nose with the back of his hand before moving over to the desk and sat down with a sigh. It wasn’t all that surprising to see Rosalind’s paintings prominently displayed on the walls.

 

“Christopher, it’s been eleven _years._ What would Rosalind think of you still like this? ”

 

“I don’t know.” Christopher shook his head.

 

Hugh stood there before he remembered something.  “I’ll be back,” and he left the office. Going into his own, he went to the desk and started searching through the paperwork in the different drawers. Finding what he was looking for he returned to Foyle’s office, paper in hand.

 

“Christopher, I have something here with me that I think you should read.” He handed over the yellowed paper and somewhat faded ink.

 

Taking it, Christopher almost cradled the fragile paper when he recognized the shaky handwriting. It was obvious that he read through the letter several times. Eventually he dropped it on the desk and rested his head in his hands.  “It’s hard, Hugh. Damn hard.”

 

“I know, and Rosalind knew it would be. But like she said, she doesn’t want you wallowing in grief.” Hugh was struck by how old Christopher looked when he glanced up. “My question is if your places were reversed, would you want her like this?”

 

Foyle reacted almost as if it were a slap in the face. He jerked back and glared at Hugh.  “This is different.”

 

“Really?” Hugh raised an eyebrow. “It’s been eleven _years_. I can understand the first or second year, but eleven? I don ’t want so see you like this for the rest of your life.” He folded his arms, giving Foyle a pointed look. “And no, you won’t be cheating on Rosalind, or even her memory.”

 

The reaction from his words were different than he expected.  “So that’s it? You still see yourself as married to Rosalind after all this time? It’s okay, Christopher. She gave you permission to find someone else. You read her words,” he pointed to the letter.

 

Thinking it had been long enough, Hugh reached for the letter and held it carefully.  “There is one other thing. A report came in of some suspicious activity on the Old London road outside of Rye. You up to it?”

 

“I have to be, there’s no other choice.”

 

“No, there isn’t.” And Hugh left the office for his own.

 

 

A short time later Foyle emerged from his office, with his trilby in hand.  “Looks like you’ll get your wish Sam.”

 

She straightened and her eyes widened in surprise.  “What is it?” she went behind the front desk and straight for the rack of car keys.

 

“Suspicious activity near Rye.”

 

She waited for the paper to sign the vehicle out as Foyle passed her and headed for the gents. A shadow came over her and she looked over her shoulder to see who it was. Hugh was standing at a respectable distance, obviously wanting to tell her something. With keys now in hand she turned to look at him.  “Yes, sir?”

 

With a move of his head, he indicated the far end of the public area to give them at least a little privacy.  “Be easy on him. He’s having a difficult go at it.”

 

She gave him a slow nod while keeping her voice low.  “Oh, I fully understand, Mr. Reid.”

 

When Foyle reemerged she followed him out and to the car park.  “Was it ever stated what it was?” she asked as she started the engine.

 

“Nup. Only that it was suspicious activity.”

 

They had been on the road for a short time when Sam squinted and leaned forward.  “What’s that?” She tried keeping her attention on the road but it was getting more difficult with the growing plume of smoke off to the side.

 

Foyle turned in his seat to get a better look.  “Not sure. Pull over here,” he directed.

 

Finding a spot far enough off the road and an area that she would not have a difficult time getting the car back on the paved surface, they got out and followed the tyre tracks towards the smoke. Over the rise they found what they were looking for. An older model car was smashed up against a tree, and smoke was billowing out from under the bonnet of the car.

 

Sam took several hurried steps forward to see if anyone was still alive in the trapped vehicle.  “Wait, Sam.” Foyle caught up to her and grasped her arm to hold her back.

 

“But—”

 

The low droning of aircraft engines grew in volume. They both looked up and around to see where where it was coming from. A whistling sound was all they needed to hear. The ground moved when bomb hit somewhere nearby.

 

“Run.” Foyle grabbed Sam’s arm and started pulling her towards the closest clump of trees. She seemed stuck to the ground for a moment before following him. Another bomb hit behind them, close enough to rain dirt and debris over them.

 

Sam gave out a cry and threw herself under the rocky overhang the trees were planted on and pushed herself into the alcove as deep as she could. It was one thing to be bombed out of her billet, or inside a pub, but this was different. To be out in the open when it was happening was a terrifying experience.

 

Without thinking she leaned up against Christopher and closed her eyes, willing her body not to shake, but it didn ’t see to work. She could feel his arms wrap around her and feel his own racing heartbeat through their clothing.

 

There was another explosion, but this time the smell of petrol accompanied it. Soon more engines joined the initial ones, this time accompanied by the rat-tat of machine guns. They remained in their hiding spot until the sound of the fighters eventually died away.

 

“You okay?” Christopher pulled away and reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

 

“No.” Sam shook her head and sniffed while shaking. “When will this horrible war end?”

 

Foyle didn ’t answer her question. “Stay here.” He got to his feet and crawled out of the overhang to stand up. After dusting the dirt and leaves off his clothing he looked around and started moving in the direction they came from.

 

He came back and propped himself up against the overhang while reaching out his hand.  “It’s safe for now.”

 

Sam crawled out from the overhang and let Foyle pull her to her feet. She brushed the dirt and debris from her uniform and looked around.  “Where are you g-going?”

 

Foyle turned back to her,  “To get the car registration plates. Hope to be able to see where it was registered, and if possible find who the owner might be.”

 

Sam nodded and went back to the Wolseley, surprised that it hadn ’t been hit. She had just happened to have parked it under another clump of trees, effectively hiding it from the air. When she reached it, she turned and saw black smoke rising from over the rise. She lowered herself to the ground and leaned against one of the back tyres.

 

“Do you think you can drive?” Foyle asked as he came over the rise and neared the car. He looked down at her, concern easily written on his face.

 

“Maybe in a little bit? I think we’re closer to Rye than Hastings. Do we need to telephone the hospital?”

 

Foyle looked around again.  “The hospital is irreverent. There’s a dead body in the car.”

 

Sam shuddered.

 

Eventually standing up she looked in the direction Foyle had. The nearby farmhouse seemed empty. Maybe they could stop there for the time being. Deciding against it, she moved to climb into the Wolseley.  “Um, sir,” she paused waiting for him to get settled in the front passenger seat, “Do you think Andrew was up there?”

 

He sighed then shook his head.  “Don’t know.”

 

“Jolly good,” she muttered as she started the engine. Looking both ways, she pulled out onto the paved surface and continued towards Rye. On reaching the centre of the town, they went straight for the police station. It was a small, red brick building on the corner of what looked like a major intersection. Rye was too small to have their own police force, so they used the Sussex County Police instead.

 

Next to the door was a large window with  _ Sussex County Police _ engraved in stone above it. Sam pulled the car to a stop in the small car park that was available. Behind them was what looked like Rye ’s main parish church. Sam hung back, knowing it would be better for her to stay with the car than to follow Foyle into the station, even though she wanted to be there with him.

 

Foyle walked into the station, surprised that it was a bit similar to the original Hastings station when he first started before the Great War. At the same time he realized he shouldn ’t be all that surprised in the first place. On one wall was a bulletin board with various pieces of information for both the police and then residents of the village. There were two doors at the far wall, one had WC stenciled on it. Foyle figured the other lead to the holding cells. In the center of the room were two desks. A quick glance at the man’s collar told Foyle that the man was an inspector.

 

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked, folding his hands on the desk and over a piece of paper he had been writing on.

 

“You are?” the constable didn’t have a name plate on the desk.

 

“Inspector Harold Jones, sir.” He gave a serious nod.

 

“I’m DCS Foyle from over in Hastings. There was a bombing a little bit ago and a short ways west near the Old London Road,” Foyle started.

 

The inspector sat back and his eyes widened.  “Um…sir…yes, I believe there was. At least one person came by to let us know. Is there anything I need to do? Reports stated that none of the farms were hit.” He stood.

 

Foyle pressed his lips together while pulling out a small notepad.  “No, but a car was. I have its registration. Do you have a listing of all the citizens that have vehicles, and what their registration numbers are?”

 

The inspector sat back down and started shuffling through the paperwork.  “I’m sorry sir. I was just promoted and transferred here earlier this week and have been trying to see where everything is placed.”

 

“You just made inspector?”

 

The man puffed his chest out and let a broad smile cross his face,  “Yes, sir.”

 

“Congratulations on the achievement.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” He paused, “Why car registration?”

 

“There was a dead body in it. Hastings has a coroner and I want to see if he can make any sort of identification.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

Foyle pointed to the telephone on the other desk, and Jones nodded while he continued to look through the paperwork.

 

By the time he had placed the call it looked like Jones had found what he was looking for.  “Here, sir.”

 

Foyle reached for the paper, not all that surprised at how short it was. Not finding the number, he handed it back.

 

“Didn’t find what you were looking for, sir?”

 

“No.”

 

Jones put the paper back in its place.  “Sorry I couldn’t help you any more, sir.”

 

“It’s okay.” And with a nod, Foyle walked out of the station and back to Sam and the car.

 

“Did you find anything?” she asked as she started the engine.

 

“Nup. I want to head back to that farmhouse.”

 

Sam nodded as she pulled the Wolseley out onto the street and back in the direction of Hastings.  “You think he might have seen something?”

 

“Won’t know until I ask.”

 

_ TBC... _


	4. Chapter 4

  
Trips back to where you started never seemed to take as long Sam thought as she brought the Wolseley to a stop.  This time they were near the entrance to a farmhouse.  “I think this is the place,” she squinted out the windscreen and then to the side window.  It looked familiar, but she wasn’t completely sure about it.  
  
Foyle climbed out of the car and looked around.  He leaned back to the open door.  “Are you sure this is it?”  
  
Sam gave him a sheepish look.  “Not really, sir.”  
  
“Right,” he muttered then pushed back from the door.  
  
She scrambled out of the car then did a quickly looked around.  Tuning, she watched Foyle as he climbed a nearby hill and stopped when he reached the top.  He stood, with his hands on his hips before he turned and came back down.  
  
“I don’t remember the hill being that steep,” Sam looked towards the hill.  
  
“This isn’t the place,” he answered as he climbed back into the car.  
  
Sam had to hurry to reach the Wolseley.  What she didn’t have to worry about is if he’d drive off, leaving her alone, but he would be irritated if she wasted too much time.  Starting the car’s engine, she pulled back onto the paved surface and continued west towards Hastings.  At another bend in the road, she had that feeling as if she had been there before.  Pulling to a stop under a clump of trees, she looked back to Foyle.  “I think this is it.”  
  
Foyle gave her a look climbed out again and headed towards a nearby rise.  Stopping he looked, then turned back to look at the other side of the road to what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse.  Coming back he paused at the Wolseley.  
  
She gave him a look that bordered on hopeful.  “Is this is?”  
  
“Yes.  Stay here until the constables arrive.”  And with that he crossed the road and walked up the drive to the farmhouse.  
  
“I wish I had a book.”  Sam sighed as she leaned up against the car.  
  
  
  
  
Foyle wasn’t really that irritated with Sam.  In fact, he understood why she had stopped at that previous location.  If it wasn’t for him looking over the hill, and not finding a burned-out shell of a car, he would have gone to the closest farmhouse.  
  
The current buildings did indeed look deserted.  There were no cars, and there seemed to be no farm animals, but that really didn’t mean anything.  They could be over at the far edge of the property in the process of harvesting the last of the crops.  Or, they could be still hiding in their bomb shelter, if they had one.  What was really bothering him was why was this area hit by a raid.  He stopped and looked south.  The empty horizon, except for the presence of trees told him that they weren’t near one of those large towers that the government had set up before the Blitz.  The same towers that Andrew had helped with when he was stationed at The Manor.  He wasn’t sure what they were for, but he knew it had something to do with protecting the kingdom.  
  
If those towers were there to help with the national defense…he shook his head at the amazing feat of technology, and one he really couldn’t wrap his brain around.  It still amazed him that he could pick up a piece of machinery and talk to someone either nearby, or on the other side of the kingdom without having to see him face to face.  
  
Turning he walked the last twenty or so feet to the house.  A vase of fresh cut flowers in the window was the only sign that told him that the place was occupied, at least before the raid.  
  
Raising a hand, he balled it and rapped smartly on the door.  Not getting an answer, he peered through the window, shading his eyes with a hand.  
  
Eventually, a much older man who seemed oddly familiar appeared through a door at the far end of the room, and shuffled across to the door.  The door opened and the man spoke, with a feeble voice, “Yes?”  
  
“Sir, I’m Foyle and I’m a police officer over in Hastings—”  
  
“What?”  The man cocked his head as if he couldn’t hear.  
  
“Foyle.”  Foyle tried to enunciate clearly and raised his voice, “Christopher Foyle over in Hastings.”  
  
“Foyle?”  The man’s eyes brightened as if remembering something from long ago.  “Phil?”  
  
That was not what Foyle was expecting.  “No….”  He shook his head for emphasis.  “My name is Christopher, not Phillip.”  Yet his words didn’t seem to work.  
  
“Come in Sergeant,” the old man backed away and waved him inside.  
  
Foyle opened his mouth to protest, but soon realized it would be for the best to let the man think he was someone else.  With a mental shrug, he stepped over the thresh hold and into the small lounge.  To the right side was a small kitchen with various items in the sink, along with a small table with two chairs.  On the opposite wall, and next to the fireplace were several faded photographs.  He took the few steps needed to cross the room to look at one in particular.  The date was 1921.  “Hastings police,” he muttered as he started scanning the now fading faces.  He stopped at one in particular and nodded before turning back.    
  
Approaching one of the chairs, he sat down.  “Mr. Wroth, how are you doing?”  
  
Wroth gave him a smile that had several missing teeth.  “Good.  How’s that boy of your, Christopher isn’t it?”  
  
 _He thinks I’m…._   Foyle had a difficult time not shaking his head.  It saddened him to a point with what happened to the former police officer’s mind.  “He’s fine.  He’s not here right now.”  
  
“Fighting for King and country against the Kaiser?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  Foyle paused leaning forward in his seat, “Yet I do need to ask you, did you see anything suspicious nearby?”  
  
Wroth shook his head.  “Those horseless carriages do make a racket.  They scare all the horses in the village.  Need to remind them to be careful when they take one of them things out.”  
  
Foyle had to reach back in his memory for an answer that wouldn’t confuse the old many anymore than he already was.  “Yes, they can.  Did you see one earlier?”  
  
Wroth raised a and hand and pointed towards the window for emphasis.  “In fact I did.  It made an even louder racket than normal.  Dunno what it was, but it sure did make the ground move, several times in fact.  I think there was more than one of those contraptions nearby.  I keep tellin’ you, those contraptions won’t be no good in the end.”  
  
Foyle nodded in agreement.  “Yes they can be if in the wrong hands.”  
  
“Good, and Sergeant, make sure that that doesn’t happen.”  
  
“Oh, I will.  The accidents can be very bad for the people riding in them.”  Before the war started it seemed like the car accidents were getting worse and worse, especially with the speeds they could reach.  “Mr. Wroth, is there anything else you remember from what happened earlier today?”  
  
“Well,”  Wroth looked up to the ceiling and then out the window.  He was like that until it looked like he remembered something else.  “There were two arguing back and forth.  Couldn’t tell what they were saying.  I wanted to go out and give them the what for.”  His face brightened, “And then someone fired a gun.”  
  
Foyle sat up a bit straighter.  “Are you sure it was a gun, or maybe one of those horseless carriages?”  
  
The man’s face fell.  “No, they sound ‘bout the same.”  
  
“It’s okay, sir.  What you’ve told me is very helpful.  I’m going to find out why you heard all those explosions.”  
  
Wroth nodded.  “Good.  Give Mary my best, you married a good ‘un.  And as soon as Christopher’s able, get that boy into the station.  He don’t need to be runnin’ around with that girl, Elizabeth.  Nuthin’ good will turn out of that.”  
  
Foyle’s eyes widened.  He had a difficult time not reacting to that bit of information.  “I’ll see to it.  Don’t worry.”  And with that he left the farmhouse and headed back to the road.  What old John Wroth told him gave him a lot to think about.  Yet at the same time it did sadden him to see the man’s once sharp mind in such a state.  
  
Just as he passed the stone fence, an ambulance from Hastings came around the bend along with two more Wolseleys.  Sam stepped out into the road and waved, getting the driver’s attention.  They slowed down and pulled off the road.  When they were at a complete stop several uniformed constables stepped out of the cars.  Foyle looked over the men that had come then waved in the direction of the rise.  “This way,” he indicated and climbed up the rise.  He heard several sighs coming from behind him, then the men trudged down the other side and to the slightly smoking wreckage of the car.  
  
They were followed by two medics carrying a stretcher between the two of them.  
  
Turning back around he reached out and stopped Hugh from following the constables.  “Wait.”  
  
“What is it, Christopher?”  Hugh gave him a look that bordered on concern.  
  
“Old John Wroth is in the farmhouse.  He heard some sort of argument before it ended in someone getting killed.  Most likely the one in the car down there.”  Foyle indicated with a wave of his head.  
  
Hugh narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side.  “You know, I seem to remember a Superintendent Wroth at the station many years ago.”  
  
Foyle nodded, “That’s him.  If I remember correctly, he retired in ‘22.  He’s losing track of reality.  Kept thinking I was my father.”  
  
Hugh frowned and shook his head.  “Sad.  Did he ask why you weren’t in uniform?”  
  
Christopher scratched the back of his neck.  “Never did.  Don’t know why it didn’t come up.  I’m glad it didn’t though because it was hard enough talking to him as it was.”  
  
“Don’t doubt it.”

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

  
“Come, Sam,” Foyle indicated the Wolseley with a wave of his head while still watching the rest of the constables as they worked to get the victim into the ambulance.  
  
She stood there, watching the whole process with hands on her hips.  Thankfully the body was covered with a sheet.  Foyle had seen burn victims before and it was never a pretty sight.  Even with all his years as a detective it was something he would never get used to.  
  
“Sir?” one of the constables came towards him with something in hand.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Sir, we found this near the car.”  He handed over what looked like an ID card.  The cover was warped and the edges singed.  Opening it up he looked at the name for a long time before closing it and slipping it into his pocket.  “Good work, constable.”  
  
The officer eye’s brightened and he nodded his head, “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Did you find anything else?”  Foyle pulled out his notepad and pencil stub and wrote something down.  
  
“No sir, just that.  We were hoping there would be more, but the car’s insides are all ash.  I don’t think anything could have survived the fire.”  
  
Foyle nodded, effectively dismissing the constable.  
  
The man went back to the ambulance and then was pointed towards one of the Wolseleys, which he climbed into.  
  
“Sam,” Foyle called again as he replaced his small notepad.    
  
This time she turned towards him.  “Yes, sir?”  
  
“We’re finished here.”  
  
“Oh, right,” she nodded and strode briskly towards their own waiting Wolseley.  
  
Climbing into the front passenger seat he braced himself for the barrage of questions he expected.  What surprised him was that Sam remained silent for the bulk of the trip back to the station.  “Sir?” her voice sounded tentative.  
  
Foyle brought his attention from the passing scenery to the woman beside him.  “Yes?”  
  
She slid a glance towards him while making sure she payed attention to the road.  It would do no good to get into an accident when it was her fault.  “I smelled petrol with one of those bombs.  Is that what happened to the car?”  
  
Foyle pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he mulled over what to tell her.  He wasn’t sure if the car was the original reason why he came out in the first place.  _Suspicious activity_ could mean anything.  And with Old John Wroth and his wandering mind….  Was there even an argument?  He and Hugh were the only ones that would have remembered the former Superintendent.  In his prime the man had been very formal and very by-the-book.  No retirement party for him, even though the boys under him wanted it.  It was only the day after he left, was there any sort of informal get together at the local pub, and even then it was subdued.  “I suspect so,” he finally answered.  
  
“Why would Jerry raid here?  There’s none of those towers nearby, and only a few farmhouses in the general area.”  
  
Why?  The question rolled around in Foyle’s mind.  Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the warped ID and opened it up.  He didn’t recognize the name at all, and it wasn’t part of the aristocracy.  There were so many aristocratic families that he couldn’t remember them all.  _Maybe Peter…._   He mentally shook his head as he replaced the booklet back in his pocket.  He would not ask Peter unless it was absolutely necessary.  Foyle didn’t want it to look as if he couldn’t do his job.  “I don’t know, Sam.”  
  
“Was there someone in that farmhouse?”  
  
Her question came as a complete surprise.  “Why do you ask?”  
  
She shrugged.  “Well, you seemed different when you came back, and then you went and talked with Mr. Reid.”  Sam changed gear as they made the last bend in the road and Hastings spread out before them.  The town almost seemed nestled against the rocky beach.  There was a small break in the clouds and the sun shown down on the waters of the Channel giving it that calm summer appearance.  
  
“Not now, Sam,” he effectively shut down the conversation.  
  
“Was only curious,” she muttered, but loud enough for Foyle to hear.    
  
He turned, trying to hide a small smile then turned back to look at her.  “I might tell you eventually.”  He was rewarded by her own smile.  It was so easy to make her happy.  
  
Without thinking he reached over and placed his hand on hers.  Their fingers quickly intertwined.  There were so many thing he wanted to do, but his position forbid anything that wasn’t deemed as proper, especially since Sam was his driver.  For now he had to be content with the fact of just holding her hand while in the privacy of the Wolseley.  He understood that Hugh knew what was going on, and the rest of the boys had an idea, but that was about it.  
  
“What about the booklet?” Sam ventured once again as she brought the car to a stop in the car park next to the station.  
  
He had quit asking himself a long time ago of how she was so perceptive.  “Dunno.  Will see where it leads us.”  And with that he climbed out of the Wolseley and headed back to his office in the station.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Sam called to his back and Foyle waved his hand as he climbed the steps and opened the door.  Once past the public area, Foyle stuck his head into Detective Sergeant Paul Milner’s office, “I need for you to see if you can find any information on a…” he pulled out the ID card and glanced through it, “John Lovelace.”  
  
Paul swiveled his chair around and pushed it towards the door.  “Is this the activity that was reported on the Old London Road.”  When he was close enough Foyle handed him the booklet.  
  
“If it was, then it’s more than suspicious activity.  There’s a dead body in the mortuary.”    
  
Paul’s eyebrows rose.  “Oh?”  
  
Foyle pressed his lips together.  He indicated the small booklet.  “This is the only information available.  Not even sure if Lovelace is the deceased individual’s name.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Body was burned.”  And with that he went back to his office.  With a birth date and address it shouldn’t be that difficult to trace the man and the information he would eventually need, that is if he could be identified.  
  
  
  
Foyle opened his eyes, not sure what brought him out of his sleep.  For a moment he listened through the white sound that the rain drops hitting on the window produced for the air raid siren, but when that didn’t sound, he turned back over and closed his eyes, hoping to get back to sleep.  He opened his eyes once again to a tapping sound through the rain.  The room lit up and a few seconds later came the distant sound of thunder.  He glanced over to the clock.  It was just light enough to see what time it was.  
  
Two in the morning.  He groaned at the tapping sound again and sat up, rubbing his face.  Letting out a low curse, he reached for his dressing gown and his house shoes and slipped them on.  As he passed the dresser he reached for the torch.  He flipped it on so he wouldn’t trip going down the stairs.  Reaching the front door, he opened it ready to give whomever it was the what-fore, yet stopped with his mouth open.  “Ssam?”  
  
“P-please?” she was soaked to the bone and shivering.  It was clear she was not wearing much.  Maybe her own dressing gown and that was about it.  
  
“Get in here,” he ushered her in and closed the door behind her just as another lightening bolt struck.  Taking her hand he led her into the lounge and pushed her onto the settee.  “Let me get you some dry clothes.”  He stopped at the base of the stairs and came back removing his own dressing gown and draped it over her before heading back upstairs.  
  
Going into Andrew’s old room, he searched for something she could wear until she could find something descent to wear.  Reaching for the light switch, he turned it, and nothing happened.  Foyle sighed and went over to pull the blackout curtain aside, glad that there was at least some light coming from the outside.  Another lightening bolt struck, lighting up the entire room.  In the end, it did help.  He found an old nightgown that he or Andrew must have worn years ago.  He laid it on the bed and headed back downstairs, but not before retrieving another dressing gown.  
  
“Sam?” he came into the lounge.  “I laid out something out for you on Andrew’s bed.  Towels are also in the bathroom.  You remember where everything is at?”  
  
Sam nodded as she got to her feet.  As she went past, he reached for her arm and stopped her.  “’Fraid the power’s out.  I’ll get a fire going.”  
  
She gave him a small smile.  “Thank you,” and with that she disappeared up the stairs.  
  
By the time he heard her come back into the lounge, he had a fire going in the fireplace.  It gave the room that warm and inviting glow, along with helping warm up the room.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” her voice small as she sank back down onto the settee and tucked her feet under her.  
  
He moved to stand before her.  “What happened?”  Throwing caution to the wind he sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer.  Her hair was still damp, but not dripping anymore, and she still wore his dressing gown.  
  
“Fire.”  She sniffed.  “Lightening struck the house I’m billeted in.  It was in the area where my room was.  It sounded just like a bomb.”  
  
 _Dear God._ “Are you okay?” Christopher turned and pressed his lips against her temple.  He felt a flare of desire shoot through him.  _Not good…._   Yet he let his lips linger on her skin.  
  
“Grabbed my dressing gown and ran from the house.”  She sniffed.  “I had nowhere else to go.”  
  
She looked up and he found they were mere inches apart.  The flickering firelight turned Sam’s drying hair into red gold.  Christopher knew her feelings for him, and her eyes easily revealed how strong they were.  The pull was too great for him to stop and he brought her closer and kissed her.  Sam’s eyes fluttered closed as the kiss quickly deepened.  Lifting his free hand, he cupped her face, letting his thumb caress her cheek.  
  
Through the desire induced haze he knew he needed to stop, but it felt so good.  It had been so long since he had been like this with a woman.  _Stop it.  You’re playing with fire_ , the voice echoed in his mind.  
  
Not knowing how he finally managed it, he pulled back and took a deep breath while looking away.  “I can’t.”  
  
“But….”  
  
Foyle took a chance and glanced at Sam.  Both confusion and hurt vied for dominance on her face and in her eyes.  “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”  
  
“But you’re not,” her voice was firm.  “Don’t you realize that I want this?  I want us?”  She reached a hand and mimicked his early touch and brought his face around to look at her.  
  
Christopher stood up and moved over to the fireplace.  He placed a hand on the mantle and bowed his head.  “Just my position of authority alone makes this off limits.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Fine?” Christopher turned, not knowing what she meant.  
  
She rose to her feet and came towards him, his dressing gown at least a size too large seemed to engulf her small frame.  “Then I quit as of right now.”  
  
Christopher closed his eyes.  He knew exactly what she was doing.  “Please, don’t tempt me.”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief, “You won’t accept my resignation?”  
  
“Not…now.”  He reached out and held her at arms length, but the urge to crush her body against him was almost too great.  
  
Sam finally seemed to understand what he meant, and let her shoulders drop.  “It’s not fair.”  
  
“Life is never fair, Sam.”


	6. Chapter 6

Foyle wasn’t all that surprised to hear a knock at the door the next morning.  It was past the time Sam would normally stop by to pick him up.  She couldn’t do that, for she was currently sitting at the table in the kitchen drinking tea while he was seated at the dining table.  After the events overnight, he was actually worried at how he’d react to her.  First thing, though, was to retrieve what property had survived the fire, if there was one.  For a moment he let himself wonder if she had come over just because of him.  Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he went for the door.  
  
He opened it and found Hugh standing before him.  “Christopher, are you all right?”  
  
Foyle pulled his collar away from his neck while nodding.  “Umm…yes.  Why?”  
  
“It’s getting close to nine, and you’re not in your office.  That’s why.”  
  
Foyle backed away from the door, giving the uniformed officer entrance into his home.  He glanced outside, noting how the wind had switched around to the north and that the temperature was dropping.  “Oh.”  He paused, “Well….”  
  
“Well, what?”  Hugh folded his arms and gave him a pointed look that bordered on amusement.  
  
Giving a sigh, Foyle shook his head.  He knew he’d never be able to worm his way out of not telling Hugh.  “Sam showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the storm, soaking wet.  She told me that there had been a fire.”  He paused then reached for his overcoat and hat.  “Did you bring a car?”  When Hugh nodded, he continued, “I want to go over to Sam’s billet to see for myself, and if possible bring anything salvageable back here.”  
  
“Where is she?” Hugh looked into the lounge.  
  
“In the kitchen.”  Foyle indicated the door with his head.  
  
Hugh gave him a speculative look before following him out the door.  
  
The clouds and warm temperatures of yesterday were replaced by an unusually clear blue sky, more representative of late summer, and a blustery north wind.  Foyle remembered hearing on the wireless the previous day that they were expecting a cold front to blow through, but the announcer wasn’t sure how much the temperature would drop.  The car wasn’t much warmer, but at least there was no wind.  
  
“You know, Christopher,” Hugh began as he started the engine, “I was wondering when you were going to start driving again.”  
  
Foyle shrugged.  “Haven’t decided yet.”  
  
“I don’t think Sam will be pleased when she finds out.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Sam’s billet wasn’t that far away, but far enough to make it a bit of a hike.  Turning the final corner, Hugh brought the car to a stop as they looked out the front windscreen.  “Damn.”  
  
Parts of the house were still smoldering.  Apparently even the rain couldn’t stop the fire.  The AFS was still on sight and checking over everything to make sure the fire was completely out.  Others were nailing wood to the windows on the ground floor.  Painted on those was a warning to looters that the police would find them and they would be prosecuted for their actions.  “Do you remember hearing any fighters last night?”  
  
Foyle shook his head.  “Nup.  And no air raid sirens either.”  He climbed out of the car and headed towards an older woman still in her dressing gown and house shoes wandering around the front garden with a dazed look on her face.  She held something in her hand.  At this point he was too far away to see what it was.  He heard the other car door close, letting him know that Hugh was following him.  
  
Apparently the woman heard it also, and whirled around, eyes darting everywhere.  When she saw Hugh in his uniform, she relaxed and collapsed to the ground.  Foyle and Hugh rushed the last few yards and tried to catch her before she hit the ground, but were too late.  
  
“Are you okay, madam?” Hugh helped to sit her up.  
  
She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, yet she still clutched a small box in her other one.  “Looters were here,” she sniffed.  “Why?”  
  
Foyle looked her over, wanting to make sure that she was okay.  
  
Hugh gave Foyle a look and then turned his attention back to the woman, “Can you give us a description?  That way we know who to look for?  Plus we need to know what’s missing.”  
  
She shook her head.  “It was too dark to see anything, and then there was the rain.”  She looked back to the remains of the house.  “And I cannot tell what’s missing with it looking like that.”  
  
“Madam,” Hugh leaned back.  “If you can go through everything that’s here, then you can tell us what’s missing.”   
  
She finally nodded.  
  
“You have a young lady staying with you, a Miss Samantha Stewart.”  
  
“Yes.”  She looked around.  “I don’t know where she’s gone off to….”  
  
“Don’t worry, madam.”  Hugh patted her shoulder.  “She’s safe right now.  Can you tell us where her room is, that way we can see if she has anything salvageable, especially clothing.”  
  
“First floor, first door on the right.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Foyle moved towards the house.  The closer he came, the worse the destruction seemed to be.  One of the AFS men who seemed rather young came up to him.  “You’re not planning on going in there?”  
  
“My name is Foyle, and I’m with the police.”  Just in case, he pulled out his ID card.  Looting had been an issue lately, especially with the houses that were bombed, but he wasn’t sure if that happened here.  
  
When the man before him seemed satisfied, he asked, “What are you looking for?  Signs of looting?”  
  
“No.  I’m here to retrieve Miss Samantha Stewart’s belongings.  This was her billet.”  
  
“You know where she’s at, sir?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The man seemed to give him a speculative look, the same look Hugh gave him not too much earlier before leading him into the house.  
  
“Her room is on the first floor.”  Foyle frowned at the current condition of the staircase.  He wondered if it was even strong enough to hold either of them.  “Wait,” he reached out a hand to stop the man from climbing the stairs.  
  
“It looks worse than it really is.  I’ve been up to the first floor several times already.”  And he began to head upstairs.  
  
Foyle gave him a dubious look before slowly following him.  He did wait until the stairs were empty.  The wood creaked louder than when he would climb the stairs up to his first floor, but it seemed stable at the moment.  Reaching the room, he hesitated at the thresh hold.  It was such a personal space, that he felt like he was invading her privacy.  The surprising part about it was that the area was in much better condition than expected.  
  
Under the bed, they found her suitcase, and on the rack against the far wall was her MTC uniform ready for the next day.  As they packed the young AFS man blushed at some of the more intimate items in Sam’s wardrobe, which brought a bit of a smile to Foyle’s face.  The whole place smelled of smoke, and he suspected that it would take several washings before the smell would completely disappear.  That wasn’t important.  What was important was that she had clothing she could wear and if need be, mend while she started her search for another billet.  
  
With everything they could find that was in decent condition packed up in her suitcase, they reemerged from the house.  Hugh was still with the older woman, which he never bothered to ask for her name.  At that moment he knew Sam’s sudden arrival last night was affecting him more than he first realized.  
  
As soon as they were back in the car Hugh looked towards him and asked, “How much?”  
  
“More than I expected to find.  The stone walls helped to keep the fire from doing any more damage.  After a few good washings everything should be good to go.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Foyle shot Hugh a glance that bordered on annoyance.  
  
Hugh gave him a rather unrepentant grin.  
  
“Whatever,” Foyle muttered to the window, his mind working overtime to figure out what he was going to do.  Having Sam in the same house was so wrong, but at the same time it felt so right.  
  
“Seriously, you think everything will be okay?”  
  
Foyle turned his attention back to Hugh.  “Eventually.”  
  
Reaching his house, Foyle mounted the steps to the front door with Sam’s suitcase in hand.  He had to stop himself from announcing his arrival.  Sam appeared from the lounge, still wearing his dressing gown.  
  
She glanced down to the case.  “How much made it, sir?”  
  
Foyle set it down beside him.  “More than I expected.  Your uniform made it through the fire, though I suspect it’ll smell of smoke for a bit.”  
  
She blushed.  “Thank you, sir.”  
  
Christopher reached a hand out and tilted her chin up so he could look at her face.  “Sam, you know I wish I could, but I can’t.”  
  
She lowered her eyes, and gave a hitching breath.  “Are you going to send me away?”  
  
“God no.  Why would I?  I can’t go anywhere without you.”  His words elicited a small smile from her.  “You can stay here as long as you need to while working on getting another billet.”  
  
Her smile widened, but was interrupted by a rough sounding cough.  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir.”  Her voice muffled by her hands covering both her nose and her mouth.  
  
“It’s all right.  Stay home for the day.”  He gave her a nod and left the house to head to the station.  
  
Rivers gave them a curious look when he and Hugh entered the station and went straight for the back offices.  As Foyle passed Milner’s office, the sergeant popped his head out into the hall, “Mr. Foyle?  
  
“Yes?”  Foyle turned and went into Milner’s office and sat down in the available chair.  
  
“Sir, there’s still no word from the coroner.”  
  
Foyle nodded.  “Which I suspected.”  
  
“But I was able to trace the car’s registration.  It was given to…,” he shuffled the papers around on his desk.  When he found what he needed, he continued, “a John Lovelace.”  
  
Foyle’s eyebrow rose.  “The same as with the ID?”  
  
“I believe so.  I’m waiting on the final bit of information from Scotland Yard.”  
  
“Good work.”  
  
Paul let out a smile and sat a bit straighter in his chair as he left Milner’s office and headed towards his own.  After hanging his coat and hat on the available rack, he went to his desk and sat down with a sigh.  _What am I going to do with you, Sam?_

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

  
Foyle looked up from his desk that was covered in paperwork to the clock on the wall.  His eyes widened when he realized it was already past lunch, yet there was still no word from Scotland Yard.  He stood and stretched out his arms, then left for the kitchenette, hoping there was at least something to eat.  He didn’t feel like going out to the closest restaurant.  At least not since Carlo was killed.  It didn’t matter even if the Italian had lived in Hastings for longer than he could remember, and that his son had decided to fight for King and country.  He shook his head and sighed.  War was a nasty business.  
  
After putting the kettle on the small hob, he rummaged around for the items to make tea.  
  
“There you are.”  
  
He looked over his shoulder to the one who called to him.  Hugh was standing just inside the room, with his hat still in hand.  It took him a moment before he remembered why the chief superintendent was standing there and holding his hat as if he were just about to step out of the office, or back in.  “How was it?”  
  
Hugh took a step into the smallish room and set his hat on the table.  “You know, I remember the first time I went to the secondary school to explain to the students on the dangers of air raids, unexploded bombs, and possible gas attacks.  They all laughed and thought it was a jolly good joke.”  His face turned somber, “that was until the raids started.  They don’t think it’s funny anymore.”  
  
The kettle started whistling.  Foyle went back over and removed it from the stove as he turned off the gas.  “I should hope not.”  
  
“Any word from Sam?”  
  
Foyle shook his head.  “Er…no.  Been too busy to check.”  
  
Hugh nodded while retrieving his hat and left the room for his own office leaving Foyle alone once again.  He knew why Hugh had searched him out.  Nothing really got past the chief superintendent.  This was his station, and he only worked here.  And of course Hugh had brought him to work this morning so he knew.  
  
With his hot cup of tea in hand he went back to his office.  Just as he sat down, he heard Milner’s limping footsteps fade away.  It sounded like he was headed towards the front.  He hoped that Scotland Yard had finally sent word on whom their unidentified victim from that air raid near Rye.  His stomach growled as he sat down.  There hadn’t been anything to eat in the kitchenette.  Foyle sighed as he thought about where he could go for at least a quick bite to eat.  
  
Milner’s limping gate came back.  He seemed to pause and then continue on.  The tall, thin detective appeared in the doorway looking unsure.  In his hand he held a piece of paper.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Not sure, sir.”  Paul moved into the office and sat down in an available chair.  He leaned forward and handed the sheet over.  “A man in the FO never arrived at work, and he has the same name as the ID you brought back from Rye.”  
  
Foyle looked over the sheet.  “And car?”  
  
Paul shook his head.  “No word on that yet.”  
  
“I see.”  Foyle pulled his bottom lip through his teeth.  Right now the evidence was more than tenuous.  There was nothing he could do until they had more information.  For now, all he could do was wait.  Handing it back, he nodded.  “Good work.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Paul gave him a smile before rising to his feet.  
  
It was less than an hour when Milner appeared at the door into his office.  “Yes?” Foyle raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Sir,” Paul took a step into the room then sat down.  “I was picking up the information Scotland Yard sent about the car when Dr. Hall came in.”  
  
Foyle sat up a bit straighter.  “The coroner?”  
  
“Yes, sir.  I only took a cursory glance over the information.”  Paul handed the paperwork over.  
  
Foyle nodded noncommittally as he scanned through the information.  “So, they’re all connected.  Interesting how Dr. Hall was able to identify the body.”  
  
“Oh?”  Paul leaned forward.  
  
Foyle fingered the papers.  “By the presence of an engraved wedding ring.”  
  
Paul nodded.  
  
“Which will make my job easier, or harder.”  Foyle dropped the papers onto his desk and sighed.  “That’ll be all, at least for now.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  Paul rose to his feet and left the office.  
  
Foyle’s stomach growled again.  “Need to get something to eat,” he muttered.  Sighing again, he rose to his feet and reached for his overcoat and trilby.  He did admit, at least to himself, that it would be easier to concentrate on the current case.  Just who was John Lovelace, and why was he here on the south coast when he had a family and job up in London, he wondered.  
  
“There you are.”  Hugh came down the corridor.  
  
Foyle stopped and cocked his head to the side, not entirely sure what the chief super was up to.  
  
“Rivers mentioned that you really haven’t left your office all day.”  
  
Foyle was about to refute the claim, except that his stomach growled again.  
  
Hugh smiled.  
  
“I’ll be back.”  And he brushed past the uniformed officer.  
  
“You sure you don’t need a lift?”  
  
“No.”  The nice part about the police station was that it was close to several restaurants.  
  
When he returned he found he was much more focused on the tasks at hand.  At least the Lovelace murder was moving forward.  Seeing there really wasn’t much left to do, he started filing the information away on all the open cases.  Once finished, he reached once again for his coat and trilby and headed towards the front of the station.  
  
“Need a drive home, sir?” Brooke asked from behind the front desk.  
  
Foyle turned to him and nodded.  “No.  I think I’ll walk.”  
  
“Jolly good, sir.”  
  
The sun was just starting to set as he left the station.  It wouldn’t take that long to reach home.  It was maybe a half mile at the most.  Reaching the house, it looked dark and uninhabited, which was a good thing.  He looked down the street, making sure the rest of the buildings were blacked out.  
  
When he was satisfied, he took the steps to the front door and unlocked it.  The stairway in front of him was dark.  Light was spilling into the front hall from the lounge, and he could hear the wireless.  It sounded like the BBC news was on.  It took a moment before he remembered why the lights would be on at just past dusk.  _Sam_.  
  
After closing the door he hung his hat on the rack near the door and shrugged out of his overcoat.  “Sam?” he asked as he moved into the lounge.  She was seated in Andrew’s chair wrapped up in a blanket with a book in hand.  Every once in a while she’d wipe an eye.  
  
Startled, her head came up and she looked around, blinking hard.  She sniffed and reached up again to wipe the tears that were dripping onto her cheeks.  
  
He moved deeper into the lounge, feeling very uncomfortable at what seemed like an obvious display of grief.  The same grief he thought he was responsible for.  “Are you okay?”  
  
“No.”  It came out a painful, rasping whisper.  She coughed, which sounded very dry, and winced as her hand came up to her throat.  
  
Christopher frowned, then headed towards the dining area.  Passing a small table off to the side that had a bottle with about a quarter left of its contents, he picked it up and continued on to the kitchen.  
  
“Where are you going?” Sam tried to force the words out louder than a rasping whisper.  
  
He heard her question, but was too busy to answer it.  Once in the kitchen he used the liquid from the bottle as a base to prepared a drink that he hoped would help with Sam’s very sore throat.  
  
Carrying the teacup on its saucer he brought the drink into the lounge and handed it to Sam.  “Drink it; all of it.”  
  
She gave him a bit of a wary look before reaching for the offering.  Steam was wafting from the surface of the liquid.  Taking a sip, she coughed and sputtered.  “What?”  
  
“You need to drink all of it.”  
  
Sam finally nodded and started sipping the drink between grimaces until it was completely consumed.  “What was that?” she gave up on speaking, and just whispered.  
  
“A hot toddy.  If anything, it’ll help you sleep tonight.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Foyle sighed as he wiped his freshly shaved face dry. The longer Sam was here in his home, the harder it was dealing with the whole situation. Last night his dreams went beyond erotic and delved into the physical aspects of his desire. He woke up finding his body had followed through with the actions he had dreamed about. The whole thing didn’t really surprise him.

 

Once dressed, he made his way downstairs, his suit coat in hand. In reaching the kitchen he let it hang on the back of his chair then went to put the kettle on the hob for his morning tea.

 

“Morning, Ch…sir,” Sam’s horse whisper came from the dining area.

 

Turning around, Foyle couldn’t help but notice her bloodshot and watery eyes along with a red nose. She coughed again, the same dry rasping sound he heard the previous evening. The bourbon in the drink last night had helped somewhat, but that was the yesterday. Turning back around, he cut extra slices from the half eaten loaf of bread for toasting. “I want you to go see Dr. White today about your throat.” He turned to look over his shoulder to make sure she heard.

 

Once the toast was finished he brought everything to the table.

 

“Sir,” it came out a stage whisper. “I did make several calls yesterday before my voice gave out.” Her hand came up to her throat and she grimaced again.

 

“Any word yet?”

 

She shrugged. “Probably not until I get over this cold.”

 

“I see.” It struck him that she would probably be here longer than he expected. What was rather humorous was the fact that she wouldn’t be chattering away and for once he’d have some peace and quiet in her presence. “I think it’d be best if you didn’t drive me around for now.”

 

She lowered her eyes. “Jolly good.”

 

“Just get better. Remember, I can’t go anywhere without you.” His words elicited another smile from her.

 

“You’ve been such a brick about the whole thing.” She tentatively reached out a hand towards his. When he didn’t move his, she placed her gently on his. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am.”

 

For a moment he wasn’t sure what she meant. Was it his reactions from the fire two nights ago or something different, he wondered. For now he pushed the thoughts from his mind as he rose to his feet. “Remember, I want you to see Dr. White.”

 

Like the previous evening, he decided to walk to the station. The day was grey, and somber. At least there wasn’t another raid. He stopped, realizing that the last raid he could clearly recall was the one when they were out near Rye. Maybe things were improving, either that or the RAF had complete decimated the Luftwaffe. Deciding on the latter, he walked with a smile on his face as he turned down the street in the direction of the station.

 

A car horn sounded nearby, startling him. Foyle looked around to see who it was and found Hugh had pulled up next to him in a Wolseley.

 

The Chief Superintendent rolled down the window and rested his arm on the door. “Need a lift?”

 

Foyle gave a shrug then crossed in front of the car to the passenger side. “What brings you over here?” he asked as he closed the door.

 

“You know,” Hugh shifted the gears and the car pulled smoothly away from the pavement. “I heard word from London about the possibility of having everyone under one command.”

 

Foyle furrowed his brow. “Here?”

 

Hugh shook his head. “Not sure yet. If so, then I’m not that thrilled about the prospect.”

 

Foyle frowned. “Neither am I. The villages and hamlets already are in that kind of situation. But Hastings? Bexhill? Both have had their own constabularies for the longest time.”

 

Hugh nodded. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything more on it.”

 

“You do that.” Foyle gave him a smile and a nod just as they were pulling into the car park behind the station.

 

“Oh, how’s Sam?”

 

“No voice for the time being. I might get some peace and quiet for once.”

 

Hugh gave him an amused look. “Wonder how long that’ll last?”

 

Foyle answered with his own annoyed look before climbing out of the car. The annoyance faded quickly with the thought of the news Hugh gave him. It made no sense. He shook his head as he went from the public area to the offices.

 

“Morning, sir,” Rivers called as he moved down the hall towards his office. He waved his hand in answer, then used the same to open the door to his office. After divesting himself from his overcoat and hat he went straight for the desk. Pushing back from the desk he turned and retrieved the Lovelace file. Milner’s comments about the Foreign Office from the previous day had got him to thinking about maybe calling Peter to see what information he possibly had. He wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect, but it was what it was, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

Picking up the phone, he tapped the hook twice then spoke, “Talboys in Hertfordshire, please.”

 

Soon Bunter’s voice came across the line, _“Talboys. May I ask whom is calling?”_

 

“Christopher Foyle down in Hastings. Is Peter available?”

 

“ _Hold please.”_

 

Several minutes passed before Peter’s voice came across the line, _“Hullo old chap. How are things?”_

 

Foyle frowned. “I’m not calling to socialize.” He paused when he realized just how abrupt it sounded. “Do you know of someone by the name of John Lovelace in the Foreign Office?”

 

“ _Lovelace…Lovelace…you do realize old chap that’s a rather old family name.”_ He paused, _“You know, I do seem to remember someone with that name when I was down in London last week. He did seem rather eager about something, but never mentioned why…are you looking for him?”_

 

Foyle drummed his fingers on his desk. “No, I know exactly where he is.”

 

“ _Care to share?”_

 

“Not at this point in time.”

 

“ _I see. Well old chap, I do hope my little bit of information helps in your detective work. It sounds almost as if he’s missing.”_

 

“Not exactly missing.” Foyle cursed to himself when he realized what the aristocrat had managed to get him to admit.

 

“ _Never fear, I won’t be passing this information around. I will say that the FO has become worried because he hasn’t come back to work.”_

 

“I see.” Foyle brought his lower lip through his teeth while nodding. And with that Foyle brought the conversation to an end. Peter did give him a possible lead. It still bothered him on why he was so close to the coast when he lived and worked in London. There was no reason for him to be down here. Picking up a pencil he tapped the end of it on his desk, trying to figure out his next moves. _Then there is Parker,_ he mused. In a way it was nice to know one of the detectives at New Scotland Yard. He always felt odd never knowing who to talk to when contacting them.

 

Picking up the telephone again, he placed the call to Detective Superintendent Parker at New Scotland Yard. It was picked up on the second ring.

 

“ _Detective Parker.”_

 

“Charles, this is Christopher down in Hastings.”

 

The younger man’s voice brightened. _“Hullo there. How are things down on the coast?”_

 

“The same. I’m actually calling to see if you have any information on a John Lovelace. He works in the Foreign Office.”

 

Papers rustled for a moment. _“Let me see…His wife came here the previous day reporting him missing. We’ve searched and no one seems to know where he is.”_

 

“Wull, I have a pretty good idea where he can be found.”

 

“ _Oh?”_

 

“He’s in the mortuary here in Hastings.”

 

“ _Mortuary? How can that be?”_

 

“There was a German air raid several days ago. I got caught in it. It damn nearly killed me and my driver.” He waved his hand, “But it seems that he was in a car that was hit. If he wasn’t dead before, the explosion and fire finished it.”

 

“ _Hmmm.”_

 

“I intend to find out why he was down here instead of in London.” Foyle paused, “Can you help me reach Mrs. Lovelace?”

 

“ _Of course.”_ Several minutes passed until Charles retrieved the information and passed it along. _“You will let me know?”_

 

“Of course.”

 

TBC...


End file.
